The Tale of Two Elvas

Before Elisabeth was born in September of 2007, we were tossing around different names for her. Lisa had wanted to use the name Elisabeth for about as long as she wanted to use the name Alexandra. I did like the name, but at the same time I wanted her to have a middle name that would honor someone who was very important in my life, my Great-Grandmother Elva Brinkerhoff.

It wouldn’t be the first time that we used a family name. Alexandra’s middle name is Louise, which is both my Mother in Law’s and Lisa’s Grandmother’s middle name. For Lorelai we used Lisa’s Dad’s name, Lee. We did change the spelling to Leigh (Which just so happened to also be Lorelai Gilmore’s middle name in the TV show Gilmore Girls, which is where we got the name Lorelai to begin with.) so it would sound a little more feminine. When it came time to find one for Elisabeth, we thought that Elva had a good ring to it.

My Grandma Elva died when I was only 8, but I have vivid memories of her and her house on Smith Ave. in Richland. She was what a Grandma is supposed to be; sweet, kind, loving, and the ability to spoil any child rotten. My sister Heidi and I both had a very close bond with both her and my Great-Grandfather Jess. There are too many memories to list on this post, so I will just leave it at this: Nobody in the world could have loved their Great-Grandparents (Which of course are the ones pictured above.) more than Heidi and I did, and I believe that the feeling was mutual with them.

One thing that I will talk about though is the little white and red ceramic cups that are also pictured above. Grandma Elva would use these little cups to put Jell-O into. We would go over to their house, and chances were better than none that those little cups would be filled up waiting for us in her fridge. It was one of the true joys of my childhood to have Jell-O in those cups. Needless to say I was quite excited when about a year or two ago my Mother asked if I would like to have a few of the cups for my own.

You might be asking what this has to do with our little Elisabeth. I didn’t even think of the connection until about a week ago. You see, Elisabeth has to take medication to control her seizures and her infantile spasms. I won’t go into further explanation, since almost all of you read Lisa’s blog and know all about our little miracle. Well, the medicine she takes is something called Depakote Sprinkles. And when I say sprinkles, I mean it. They resemble the same kind of sprinkles that they put on sugar cookies. They do not dissolve in liquid, so the only way Elisabeth can take them is to eat them with yogurt or some sort of baby food. Since yogurt is her food of choice, that is what we usually use. And what do we put the yogurt and Depakote Sprinkles in? Yup, you guessed it, the Jell-O cups that my Grandma Elva used all of those years ago.

Ever since last week when I realized this, I have thought about my Grandma Elva every night when I give Elisabeth her medicine. I picture her up in heaven with that wonderful smile on her face while she looks down on her Great-Great-Granddaughter taking the medication that she depends on to make her life just a little more normal than it would be without it. And while I only have a few things in my possession from my Great-Grandparents, these are by far my favorite and most precious.

My most memorable day after Thanksgiving memory

I was going to post this last Friday, but since most of you would either be:

A. Waking up at the crack of dawn to buy the new Elmo doll that your child will not be interested in by March.

B. Waking up to a ginormous mess in your house from the night before when all of your relatives’ enjoyed your cooking, but when it came time to clean up, they all had tummy aches.

-OR-

C. So sore from the turkey bowl football game that you played with your church. You know the one where you took the opening kickoff almost all the way to the house before feeling your butt muscle pull? The one where 10 minutes later you pulled your groin on the other side of your body, but were still able to have 4 catches and 2 touchdowns for the game?

I decided to wait until today to post it. Because whether you were shopping, cleaning, or nursing a sore butt muscle, the last thing on your mind would be to check your favorite blogs.

With all that being said, I now must warn you about today’s post. This is a day after Thanksgiving memory post, and it might be a little gross to some of you. So if you aren’t in the mood to read about what transpired the day after Thanksgiving 1989 to yours truly, go ahead and stop reading right now, and go admire the talking Elmo you cold cocked another person for 3 days ago.

Like I said, the year was 1989. I was 12 years old, and it was 4 days before Thanksgiving. I had been feeling very sick for a few days and had even thrown up once or twice. Since we were going to be leaving to go over to Bellevue to my Grandparents house in 2 days, my mom decided that it would be a good idea to take me to the Doctor. After all, the last thing you want to do as a parent is travel across the mountains with a boy who is hurling out the window as you drive.

After waiting the obligatory 45 minutes in the waiting room, we were called back by the nurse. Of course we all know that is followed up by another 20 minute wait in the exam room, but since this post isn’t about the headache that is going to the Doctor; I will stop harping on the subject. Dr. Beck entered into the room and did the usual checks on me. Eyes…check. Nose…check. Ears…check. Slamming the triangular rock into my knee…check. After a few words with my mom, Dr. Beck turns to me and informs me that I have some little bug, which will be gone by Thanksgiving and I will be able to eat all of the turkey and pie that I could stomach.

I was stoked to hear the news. I loved going over to my Grandma’s house for Thanksgiving. From the flattened out butter on the small light blue colored plate, to the bowl of ice cream that I would eat at night while my family watched the 10 o’clock news, the food just tasted better there.

As usual, we had a ton of people there for our Thanksgiving feast. We would line up another table with their dining room table so there could be room for the 20+ guests who were in attendance. My uncles Mike and/or Brian would have a whoopee cushion at the ready for when Grandma would get up to grab something out of the kitchen. You see us Brinkerhoff’s/Sorenson’s don’t believe in a quiet civilized Thanksgiving meal. I mean, where would the fun be in that??

That night I ate and ate, and when I didn’t think I could fit anything else in, I ate some more. I had been over my bug for about 48 hours, and felt fine. However, that “little bug” I had had one more kick left in it.

When I went to bed I felt totally fine. No upset stomach. No feeling like a fever was coming on. After a good night sleep in the room that was referred to as “The Black Hole”, I went downstairs to get some breakfast. When I walked into the kitchen, my grandma was sitting at the table eating her oatmeal. Across the room the TV was on KSTW 11. And it was right then and there that it hit me like a ton of bricks. I had to barf, and it was coming out no matter what I tried to do.

My mind was racing very fast with the thoughts on the best way to lose all that I had gorged myself on the night before. Running to the bathroom was out of the question, I would never have made it. I didn’t want to go towards the family room, because then the spew would have been all over the carpet. So I decided that the best thing to do would be to put my hand over my mouth and try to block whatever remnants of pumpkin pie and mashed potatoes were going to come up.

Looking back on the whole situation, putting my hand over my mouth wasn’t a very good idea. Why you ask? Before I answer that, you need to be familiar with the scene in the movie “Stand by Me” when Davie Hogan, a.k.a. Lardass Hogan starts to hurl after drinking a bottle of castor oil and swallowing a raw egg before he participates in the County Fair pie eating contest. Because that is how my upchuck chucked. It was a powerful stream of puke, and I had tried to block it with my hand.

So what happens when something that would later be referred to as “The Thanksgiving Power Barf of 1989” goes down? Well, for starters, remember that I was standing next to my poor Grandmother. The mess pouring from my pie hole squirted out of the sides of my mouth and into her shoes, all over the table where her bowl of oatmeal sat, and all over her. It goes without saying that she wasn’t too thrilled to be covered with the meal that she so tirelessly slaved over the night before. Especially since said meal smelled waaay different than it did 12 hours prior.

Right at the moment the power barf hit, my uncle Mike was coming out of the laundry room that was hooked onto the Dining Room. He saw the whole thing. Of course since he was not involved with what had just transpired, it was the funniest thing in the whole world to him.

After much yelling and screaming from my Grandma, the mess was cleaned up. (I can’t imagine why she was sooo upset. Kids throw up all the time.) But the memory of my power barf would live on forever. I look back on it fondly, as does Mike. My Grandma though? Probably not so much.

Oh yes, and one thing I did forget to mention. While I still believe that I wouldn’t have made it to the Bathroom that I had in mind, I would have made it to the one that was right off of the Laundry room.

So there you have it, my most memorable day after Thanksgiving moment.

Are there any after Thanksgiving moments you hold dear?